Get Bent
by thequeergiraffe
Summary: Sam and Dean wake up in an alternate universe...featuring Sammie and Deanna, their genderswapped counterparts. Follow along as Dean encounters a brand new form of masturbation and a truth he's not quite ready to face, and Sam spends some quality time with an old friend. Sam's POV, probably about 5 chapters. Not as cracky as I expected it to be. Involves M/M, M/F, and F/F pairs.
1. Chapter 1

"You've got about ten seconds to explain who you are and how you got here," an indistinct voice growls, the words all smudged together, nonsensical for reasons Sam can't begin to explain. He sits up slowly, his eyes still closed and his head swimming. Something hard and unforgiving pushes him back to the ground, pressing the breath from his lungs. "I didn't tell you to move, hotshot. Now talk."

"Deanna, please," says a softer voice from farther away, and the pressure abandons Sam's chest just like that. "Come on. If they were here to hurt us, don't you think they'd be less…" She trails off, and Sam feels inordinately pleased with himself for A) realizing that the speaker is a woman and B) understanding most of the words. He feels like he's coming to, sort of, and he coughs and splutters his way back to normalcy as best as he can.

"Hate to break it to you, princess," says the other person- another woman, her voice gruff and low- with an off-handedly condescending lilt to her voice that reminds Sam so much of Dean he'd roll his eyes if he could open them, "but people don't just _appear_ out of nowhere. Anything about this seem safe or okay to you?"

'Princess' lets out a slow breath. "This one's not even awake, and that one is about to vomit all over the carpeting. All I'm saying is…I don't know, maybe don't stomp on the poor guy's chest until we know why he's here."

Sam blinks a few times as they deliberate, not seeing much but blurry shapes and a light that seems to be spinning above him. He licks his lips, tries to speak. Clears his throat, tries again. "Dean."

"What'd he say?" Deanna snaps, leaning in close. There's something familiar about her scent, something it takes Sam a moment to place. Gun oil. She smells like gun oil.

"Dunno," says the other woman, taking a few steps forward. "Sounded like Dee, didn't it? You know him?"

Deanna's voice is both angry and fearful as she answers, hurriedly, "The other one, don't leave the other. Jesus, Sammie. How long we been doin' this? Y don't take your eyes off 'em, not even for a second. That's, like, rule numero uno. You know this."

Sam can practically hear Sammie sulking. "Sorry," she mumbles, sounding anything but. "I'm rusty, that's all."

"Yeah, well," Deanna says, like it's not an excuse. She hunches back down beside Sam and slaps lightly at his face. "Hey, big guy. That's it, you huge bastard. Come on, wake up."

Forcing his eyes open (if only to stop Deanna from slapping him anymore), Sam tries blearily to focus on her face. It's an impossible task, but he makes out wide green eyes, dark lashes, full lips. His heroine- or captor, he's not sure which yet- is, to borrow the term from Dean, an absolute _babe_.

"There we go, Sasquatch," she says softly, and as Sam's eyes focus more and more he realizes that for all her tough talk and rough manners, she's watching him worriedly. "That's it, easy now. Can you talk?"

Sam clears his throat again and rasps, "Yeah."

"Good," Deanna nods. The more she comes into focus, the more beautiful she gets. There's a sweep of freckles across her nose, and her hair (light brown, with hints of gold) is tied up in an almost-neat military-style bun. "You got a name?"

"Sam," he says, looking around at his surroundings with squinted eyes. They're in the same kind of crappy two-star motel Sam's been spending nights in all his life, the wallpaper dingy with nicotine stains and the air conditioner rattling chaotically. Sam can't remember how they got there- can't remember anything beyond sitting in a bar with Dean, sipping foul, cheap scotch and shooting the shit. And then… then… nothing. Just waking up here.

"Uh huh," says Deanna. "And your boyfriend there?"

"Brother," Sam coughs, letting his eyes roll over to where Dean is laying sprawled face-first on the stained beige carpet. There's a little line of drool stretched from his mouth to the floor, and his sides are moving gently with each deep breath. Dean's okay. He'll be okay. Sam lets his gaze wander upwards, to the girl (can't be much older than twenty) standing over him, an AR-15 held in her hands like she knows how to use it but doesn't want to have to. She looks innocent compared to other girl, something soft in her eyes that gives her a sense of untainted youth. With Sam looking at her she seems to grow uncomfortable in her own skin, shaking her dark hair out of her face and pulling her bottom lip between her teeth uncertainly. "He's my brother," he tells that girl, because he knows it'll count with her. "His name's Dean."

"That some kinda joke?" Deanna asks immediately, and Sam shifts his eyes back- then pauses, unable to blink or breathe, his eyes settling on the space between her breasts. She's wearing Dean's amulet, the one Dean chucked in the garbage back when Lucifer and Michael were still planning to wear them to the prom. The one that Sam surreptitiously dug back out of the garbage when Dean wasn't looking; the one that's in his back pocket right now, pressing through his jeans like a warning. "Hey, eyes up top, you skeevy son of a bitch. I'm talking to you."

"Where did you get that?" Sam breathes, and Deanna glances down.

Her eyes narrow. "What's it to you?"

"I gave it to her," Sammie says quickly, her and Deanna exchanging a series of looks like a conversation. She wins in the end, Deanna folding her arms and huffing out a breath as Sammie goes on: "It was a gift. A Christmas gift. It was supposed to be for our dad, but I gave it to Deanna instead because I was pissed off and she deserved it more." She stops and takes a steadying breath, then asks the question Sam somehow knew she was going to ask. "He's got one, too, doesn't he? Your brother?"

"Used to," Sam answers hoarsely. He shifts- it hurts, a flare of pain kicking up against his ribs and making him wince- and starts to reach back towards his pocket, but Deanna yanks her gun out of her waistband and cocks it in his face, her eyebrow lifting delicately.

"Deanna," Sammie protests, as Sam raises his hands, licks his lips, and says earnestly, "Just…trust me, please. You have to trust me on this."

Gesturing with her gun, Deanna cautions, "Go ahead. But, fair warning? I'm a damn good shot, and while I'd really rather not spend the rest of my night cleaning your custard off the walls, I won't hesitate if you test me."

That, more than anything else, sends a chill down Sam's spine. Because the hard anger just below the surface of her eyes reminds him of nothing so much as Dean when he's backed into a corner and bracing for a fight. He nods once, then reaches back slowly and tugs the amulet free, curling it up in his fist. Then, like a good showman, he sits up and holds his fist out in front of Deanna. When he opens it downwards the amulet drops free and hangs swinging, the cord looped around his middle finger.

Deanna's brow furrows, her eyes going intense. Sammie lets out a shaky breath and nods, letting the rifle hang at her side and brushing her hair back with her free hand. "I thought so," she says, sounding calm even as her eyes betray her nerves. "Man, I'm used to weird but this is…" She shakes her head and looks at Dean with a mix of fear and fondness and worry. "This is so beyond our usual brand of crazy."

"Somebody wanna fill me in on what the hell's going on here?" Deanna growls, looking accusingly between Sam and Sammie, masking her bewilderment with fury.

"They're us," Sammie laughs, curious despite her fear. "That one's me. This one's you." She laughs again, her eyes roving over Sam amazedly. "They're us."

Deanna gives Sammie a look. "Come again? You want to run that past me one more time?"

"They're us, Dee," Sammie insists, getting wound up now. "I don't know how, but…I think they're us, from an alternate universe or something."

For a long moment Deanna only stares at her sister, her mouth working but no words coming out. Then she shifts her eyes down to Dean and frowns. "How come I'm the one slobbering on the floor?"

Because it's Dean and that's how he works, Dean chooses that very moment to snap awake, wiping the drool from his mouth and peering around the room as he groans and tries to sit up. "Sam?" he calls out hoarsely, sliding up to his knees. "Sammy? Cas?" He coughs a few times and squints up at Deanna.

"Oh, hey," he says slowly, a dopey smile dimpling his cheeks. "Am I having that kinky dream about myself again?"

Deanna has the good grace to blush.

X

After they go through the whole routine of proving they aren't anything but normal humans( at Dean's insistence), they settle down around the little card table by the window, Deanna with her boots on the table, ankles crossed, Sammie lurking behind her, arms folded and her back against the wall, Dean leaning one elbow on the table, chin settled on his fist and a beer hanging loosely in his other hand, and Sam pacing slowly in front of the table, unconsciously mirroring Dean's thoughtful pose with his arms folded and his finger tapping at his chin.

Dean raises his arm slowly and presses his beer bottle to his forehead, his lips pursed as the condensation mingles with his sweat. "Last thing I remember?" He repeats, looking at Sam. "Cas. We were at that dive, and you were three sheets to the wind." He looks at Sammie and Deanna and flashes a patented Winchester smile. "Sammy here's a real lightweight."

"Dean. Can we please just-" Sam drags his hands through his hair frustratedly. "Would you focus, for one second? This is important."

Sammie, to Sam's left, nods seriously, but Deanna gives Dean a twinkling look that makes Dean lift his eyebrows and smirk.

"You've got to be kidding," Sammie sighs, echoing Sam's thoughts perfectly. To which Dean and Deanna reply simultaneously: "What?"

"Just get back to the story," Sam says, rolling his eyes.

Dean shrugs and takes a swig of his beer. He sets the bottle down and lets out a breath. "We'd just finished that case up in Michigan."

The memory floods back, and Sam's eyes light up excitedly. "Right! The- the-" He snaps his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to yank the rest of the memory free of his stubborn skull, but it won't come.

"Wendigo," Dean says off-handedly, and Sam gasps out: "Yes! Wendigo, yeah! I remember! Before that, we left Cas at the nursing home to watch over Fred."

Dean nods. "Yeah, but Cas showed up at the bar. Said it was an emergency or something, that he needed us out of sight. Next thing you know-" He gestures with his beer towards the floor of the motel room. "-I'm looking up into a pair of _incredible _green eyes."

Sliding her feet off the table and leaning forward, Deanna flashes Dean a smile. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Flirt with yourself later," Sam groans, torn between irritation, amusement, and mild horror. "We need to figure out why Cas sent us here."

"To keep us safe, the stupid son of a bitch," Dean says, shrugging and taking a long drag from his beer. It's obvious to Sam (and, Sam imagines, to Deanna and Sammie, too) that Dean's just pretending he's not ready to climb the walls with worry over Cas.

Deanna proves Sam's theory by sitting back in her chair and giving Dean a thoughtful once-over. "This Cas. He's really something, huh?"

Dean's answering look could wilt flowers. Deanna's made of tougher stuff, though; she stands up and grabs another beer out of the fridge, cracking the top off and sliding it to Dean before perching on the ledge of the table and smiling at Dean sadly. "Can't lie to me, sugar. I know that look."

Shifting uncomfortably, Sam clears his throat. He knows perfectly well that he and Dean are going to have to have A Conversation about Cas one day, and he dreads it almost as much as he dreaded leaping into the Pit. Sam's not stupid, and he's been picking up the signs since they were kids. He's got no problems with whoever Dean winds up with, regardless of gender. Or…species, he guesses. However you'd sub-classify angels.

Dean, Sam thinks, will be a lot less accepting of himself. And now is not the time to fight their way through decades of guilt and self-loathing. One day, sure. Dean deserves it. But not today.

"I think the better question, then, is what Cas is trying to protect us from," Sam says, dragging them away from the precipice and setting them back on target. "Crowley, you think?"

"I look like I got answers?" Dean grunts, surly. "Cas thinks he can handle this alone, fine. And if the whole world pays for it, so it goes. I'm done." He kills the beer Deanna brought him in one go, and slams the bottle down with another grunt. "I'm hitting the can. You, She-Ra, and Wonder Woman can talk yourselves in circles if all night if you want to, but I'm out of the equation."

After he's gone, Sammie and Deanna exchange looks. "Which one am I?" Sammie asks, something in her eyes suggesting she's fully prepared to be offended.

Deanna considers for a second. "Wonder Woman," she says decisively, after a moment. "She's an Amazon, right? Plus, of the two, She-Ra is definitely the hot one. Ouch! Bitch," she swears, rubbing her arm where Sammie punched her.

Sammie lifts her chin triumphantly. "Jerk," she answers, turning away to smile.

The exchange sits funny in Sam's chest, making his throat tight. How long has it been since he and Dean were like this?

…No, really. Sam snaps his head up and looks at the two like he's seeing them for the first time. How long _has_ it been? "What year is this?" he asks, holding his breath in anticipation.

Deanna's eyes narrow, but Sammie just pulls a face and says, "2005. Is it the same for you? We just handled a wendigo ourselves, but that was…Colorado, right Dee?"

"Mm," Deanna hums, slipping out of her chair and wandering off towards the bathroom. Sam falls into Dean's vacant seat, his eyes wide, and Sammie drops down into Deanna's chair.

"You're not from 2005, are you?" she asks quietly, picking at the label on Deanna's beer.

Sam shakes his head. "Sammie, I'm so sorry."

With eyes just like his own, Sammie looks up at Sam worriedly. "For what?"

For a moment Sam's not even sure what to say. What could even begin to cover all the horrible things this poor girl has yet to face? And Deanna… "Everything," he says at last, staring at his hands on the table. "All of it."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam can tell what's happened the moment Dean saunters out of the bathroom, never mind the way Deanna trails out after him, her boots unlaced and her T-shirt rumpled. "All right, Gigantor," she announces, pulling on a jacket and sitting down to lace her boots. "Time to report for duty. I need some help loading up the car." Dean moves towards the bags and she points at him, her eyes broaching no argument. "Not you, Prince Charming. Sit."

To Sam's surprise he does exactly that, however sullenly, falling into a chair by the window and snatching up the remote. Deanna nods at that and flicks her hand at Sam, points at the bags. "Snap to it, kid," she says, standing and hefting one of the enormous duffels herself. "You wanna get back to your own universe sometime this year, or what?"

Outside, Sam finally blurts: "Did you guys really…I mean, _really_?"

Deanna chuckles and leads Sam to a perfect replica of their Impala, gleaming under the dingy overhead lights in the rundown parking lot. She pops the trunk and tosses her bag in, then leans against the bumper and watches Sam as he does the same. "Not every day you get to cross something like that off the bucket list," she says, scuffing her boots in the gravel. She looks at Sam seriously. "You know he's certifiable over that angel, right? I mean, completely gone." She mimes a person falling off a cliff with her hand, making a whistling noise. "Rough spot to be in. I don't envy him."

Neither does Sam, but that's not what he says. He adopts Deanna's pose, sitting against the lip of the trunk with his arms folded. "How much did Dean tell you?"

"Enough," she says vaguely, tucking her hands into her pockets. "We tried praying. He prayed to his Cas, and I prayed to whatever version of Cas might be here." She shrugs. "Nothing. Nada. Could be he didn't hear us." Looking at Sam, her eyes reveal what she thinks really happened as she adds: "Could be he just doesn't wanna come."

X

They squabble for awhile over who's going to sit where, but eventually- once the inarguable dictum of "our universe, our rules" gets raised, the boys find themselves crammed into the backseat, while Deanna mans the driver's seat and Sammie (who informs them that she prefers "Samantha", though she supposes they get a pass) sinks into the front passenger seat like someone would ease into their favorite chair at home.

"Where are we headed, anyway?" Sam finally asks, once the argument of music (for once, Sam's not the only one bitching about the time freeze that has descended upon the Impala's radio) is settled (classic rock station, of course, because even in an alternate universe shotgun apparently has to shut her cakehole, leaving Sam outnumbered) and they're zipping down the highway at an alarming speed.

Deanna smiles and taps her hand against the steering wheel. "Come on, Sammy, use that big brain of yours. Where do you think we're going?" She waits a moment, then sighs. "Where do we always go when we've got something we can't work out on our own? Who do we always fall back on?"

"Cas," Sam says immediately. "Unless he's off the reservation, which he usually is." He settles back and considers. "Actually, we call him then, too, for better or worse."

Sam sees Deanna's nose crinkle in the rearview. "You get a sparkly new angel friend and, what, suddenly Bobby gets the shaft?"

It feels like the air is knocked out of him. He looks over at Dean, who's staring silently at the passing scenery, his knee bouncing. "We're going to see Bobby," Sam intones, his voice thick with mingled dread and excitement. "Dean, is that a good idea?"

Dean's jaw flexes. "I told you, I'm not in this. What you girls decide to do is your business." Finally looking at Sam, he grins his best shit-eating grin. "I'm just along for the ride."

"Did you guys have a falling out or something?" Sammie asks, turning around in her seat. The "or something" is said with such carefulness that Sam knows she knows.

He flicks a look at Deanna, who doesn't seem to have caught on, and says, gently, "Something like that." The way Sammie's face crumples breaks his heart.

"Let's keep a lid on that, huh?" Deanna asks, meeting Sam's eyes in the rearview. "Bobby's a stubborn bastard. He finds out he's got beef with you in an alternate universe, he might just decide he's got beef with you in this one, too."

They're all quiet for awhile after that, everyone mulling over their own personal worries. Sam watches the road signs as they pass and figures out that they're just under three hours from Sioux Falls, closer to two if Deanna's driving is anything like Dean's. He tries to settle in for a nap after a half hour or so on the road (who knows when he'll get to sleep again?) but that plan quickly finds itself out the window as Dean begins to drum his fingers against the seat and make little raspberry sounds in time with the music. Then he begins singing, and miming his singing, and before long he's doing his entire air guitar routine, heedless of the way Sammie's fighting back a laugh and Deanna is looking at him, distinctly unimpressed, in the mirror.

"Dean," Sam hisses, slapping his thigh. "Stop it. I'm trying to sleep."

"Pull the stick out of your ass, Sam," Dean says with false brightness. "We're on a road trip with a couple of beautiful girls, we're about to see Bobby, and for once we aren't solely responsible for saving the world. Cas wants us out of the way? Fine. Let him play Superman on his own; Batman's officially retired." Before Sam can comment on the amazing amount of narcissism involved in that declaration, Dean jabs him with his elbow and drops his voice. "Speaking of beautiful girls, what do you think?" He nods towards Deanna. "I always knew I'd be a hot chick."

"There are so many reasons I don't want to be having this conversation," Sam responds, wincing.

"Come on," Dean says, dropping his voice even lower, "you know you'd tap that."

"Gross! She's practically…_you_."

Dean sits back, looking offended. "What's wrong with me?"

"Ugh, Dean," Sam splutters, in disbelief at the turn this conversation has taken, "you're my brother, dude."

"Yeah, but if I wasn't," Dean goes on, "and if I was a hot chick-"

"All right, fine, whatever," Sam mumbles, shaking his head and scouring his mind with mental bleach. "Can we please just…_stop_ having this conversation?"

Dean has the nerve to give Sam a funny look, like it's _Sam_ being weird. "Fine," he says, lifting his hands.

"Good." Sam lets out a breath and sits back, too disturbed now to sleep. "Congratulations, by the way," he says into the awkwardness. Dean looks confused, so he adds, "On breaking your dry streak? I'm guessing-" Remembering himself, he spares a glance up front before leaning in and whispering, "I'm guessing Purgatory wasn't exactly a party, and since you've been home you've been…uh, pretty abstinent."

"How would you know?" Dean asks, his feathers all ruffled.

Sam rolls his eyes. "How do you think? It's not like I'm keeping track; we're just together all the time." He considers for a moment, then chuckles.

"What?"

"Nothing, just…" Sam fights back another laugh. "I'm just not sure this actually counts, you know? I mean…" He glances at Deanna, then back at Dean. "Isn't that just, sort of…complicated masturbation?"

"What?" Dean bursts. "No, no, no. There was an actual chick involved; it counts." Dean gives him a long, challenging look, before adding, "It counts. Nothing like-" He does a crude jacking motion with his hand.

"Hey, quit jerking off back there and go to sleep," Deanna calls over the music. "Don't make me pull this car over."

Dean gives her reflection a stern look in the rearview. "Watch it, sister."

"Don't call her 'sister'," Sam shudders, burrowing down into his jacket and grimacing. He squeezes his eyes shut and prays for the third time since he woke up on the girls' motel floor: _Cas, if you can hear me, please just come back for us now. We can help you. Just…please, come get us._

X

Dean slaps his chest awhile later and Sam startles awake, glaring out at the gray morning beyond the windows. A familiar sight greets him, though, making his chest tighten and his eyes soften. Bobby's. Not the new place, either, the one that he and Dean have relegated as their own. It's Bobby's old junkyard, just as much of a wreck as Sam remembers it. He looks over at Dean, seeing his own hurt reflecting on Dean's face, and just as quickly looks away. How they're going to get through this, Sam hasn't got a clue.

"Rise and shine, boys," Deanna sings, easing the Impala up alongside the house and switching off the ignition. She shakes Sammie awake, and the pair of them climb out of the car.

Sam and Dean don't move an inch. They look at each other, Sam shaking his head just a little. "Dean," he says quietly, not able to put into words how very much he does not want to do this.

"Come on, Sam," Dean says, his voice a little rougher than usual. "If anyone's gonna know how to straighten this out, it's Bobby." He pops the door open and gives Sam a small, sad smile. "We go inside, or we say screw it and hit the nearest bar. Your choice."

Sam lets out a slow breath and reaches for the door handle. "Let's get this over with."

On the porch, Bobby's hugging the girls enthusiastically. And it's him, one hundred percent. The reality of it hits Sam in the gut once again, and for a moment he considers taking Dean up on that offer to tuck tail and drink away their sorrows. Instead he meets Dean's eyes and lets his resolve strengthen, then heads to the porch with his hands in his pocket and his heart aching.

"Bobby," he says, voice breaking a little.

Dean nudges him and clears his throat. "Heya, Bobby."

Bobby gives them a long, calculating look, then nods and turns to head back into the house. "Well, come on," he calls over his shoulder, "or are you waitin' for a special invitation?"

They follow Bobby into the house, and Sam has to bite his lip to keep from blurting out that it smells just like he remembers, like whiskey and Old Spice and ancient books and motor oil. He chances another look at Dean and finds his brother isn't fairing much better; Dean's looking around with wide, glassy eyes, his hand running across his jaw, trying and failing to hide how tense he is.

"I'll be upstairs," Sammie says abruptly, looking at Sam and Dean like they've just broken her heart (and in a way, Sam supposes, they have) before jogging up the steps.

Deanna watches her go, then turns to Bobby and shrugs. "PMS?"

Bobby doesn't say anything to that, but his eyes narrow a little and fall on each of the boys in turn. "Deanna, go on and fix us up some coffee," he says after awhile, not looking away from Sam and Dean. "And make mine Irish."

"Mine too," Dean says, sounded as beat up as Sam feels.

Sam nods. "Yeah. Yeah, mine too."

Deanna looks between them all suspiciously. "Am I missing something?"

"Nothin' you need to worry about," Bobby says, giving her an authoritative look. "Go on."

She looks like she wants to argue, but instead she just shakes her head and walks off towards the kitchen, her boots loud against the old wooden floors.

"So," Bobby says, when she's out of earshot, "how's it happen?"

"Getting zapped to an alternate universe?" Dean asks, sounding more in control than he looks. "Man, you don't want to know-"

"No, ya idjit," Bobby grumbles, shaking his head. "How do I croak?" To their dumbstruck silence, Bobby rolls his eyes. "Might be I don't know you from Adam, but it don't take a genius to see what's written all over your faces. You boys are lookin' at me like I'm a ghost."

Dean laughs at that, a startled unhappy sort of laugh that makes Sam nervous. "That's one helluva word choice there, Bobby."

Bobby gets a mulish sort of set to his jaw. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's a long story," Sam cuts in, before Dean can do any more damage, "and I swear, we'll tell it to you if you really want to know. But first…Bobby, where's John?"

"I ain't his keeper," Bobby lies, not knowing he couldn't possibly lie to the Winchesters, that they knew him too well for that. "How should I know?"

"You might wanna figure it out," Dean says, his voice low and angry, "because you've got one mother of shitstorm headed your way, and those girls-" he jabs his finger in the direction of the kitchen "-don't deserve it. They don't deserve what's coming to them."

"Dean," Sam says, shaking his head. "Don't."

"What? You want them to go through the same damn mess we went through? We've got a chance to stop it. If we talk to Dad-"

"What makes you think he'll listen to us, Dean? We're strangers to him!" Sam lets out an exasperated breath.

"Those girls are gonna go through hell," Dean growls, putting enough emphasis on "hell" that Sam gets his second meaning, even if Bobby doesn't, "if we don't do something, Sam. We've got a chance to make things right here. We've got a chance to save a lot of people."

Sam crosses his arms and shakes his head, his throat tight. "At what cost? Dean, how many times have we learned this lesson? Doesn't it seem like…like no matter how much we try to fix the past, we just make things worse?"

"All right, all right," Bobby butts in, looking tired. "We got bigger fish to fry at the moment. Namely, gettin' you two back where you belong. The issue of changin' the future can wait til we know just who's gonna be in it, don't ya think?" He putters off towards the kitchen, leaving Sam and Dean no choice but to follow.


	3. Chapter 3

The roof above their heads creaks and groans in a steady rhythm, and Sam and Sammie give each other a long, sympathetic look before turning their attention back to the stack of angel lore Bobby rummaged up for them.

"I get it," Sammie says, turning a page and tapping her pen against the table. "Them, you know. Deanna's always been that way."

"Easy?" Sam asks, stretching out his stiff back. "Yeah, Dean too."

Sammie shakes her head. "No. I mean, yes, but that's not what I meant. I mean she's always used sex as a sort of…band-aid, I guess. If somebody's hurting and she's not sure how to fix it, she…you know. Throws them a pity lay."

"Huh." Sam mulls that over for a moment. "You know, I never really thought of it that way, but you're right. Dean does the exact same thing. When," he adds with a shrug, "he's not hooking up with some random truck-stop waitress."

Sammie chuckles and picks up another book, flips through it half-heartedly. After awhile, she says, like it's an afterthought, "I get why that's not us, too, you know. Why we're not…"

Awkwardly, Sam looks up at Sammie, who's watching him intently. She's a pretty girl, with a cute smile and warm eyes, but she's not at all Sam's type. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, sure." She sets the book down and leans her elbows on the table. "I don't know about you, but the love of my life is dead and I'm not okay, no matter how much I pretend otherwise. I'm not exactly ready to hop in bed with _anyone_, much less my alternate universe self." Chewing on her lip, Sam looks away. "He was going to propose to me. I found the ring in his sock drawer. It was hard as hell, pretending I didn't know. But I would've said yes. If he'd had the chance to ask, I would've said yes."

"Sammie, I'm so sorry," Sam says gently, knowing it's not enough.

Sammie swallows and brushes at her eyes. "Yeah, me too. It happened to you, too, didn't it?" She doesn't wait for him to answer. "What was her name?"

"Jess," Sam answers, surprised at how distant the ache in his chest is. It never really went away, the pain of losing Jessica, but now that he's face-to-face with his own hurt from years before he can see just how much it's dulled, how time and new losses have buried it so far down inside himself that he can almost forget it, at times.

There's a long silence, both of them lost in the sea of their own grief. Then Sammie reaches across the table and takes Sam's hand. "I get it," she says simply, looking at him with such wide-eyed innocence that Sam almost feels sick. Because Sammie doesn't realize, not yet, that she's cursed. She doesn't know that climbing into bed with someone is as good as sentencing them to death, and she doesn't know that that the darkness inside of her won't be dormant for long. She doesn't know that she's going to lose everyone she cares about, one way or another. She still thinks that this, losing her version of Jess, is the absolute worst thing that can happen to her.

She has no idea how far she has left to fall.

Sammie gives his hand a squeeze and lets go, leaning back in her chair and shooting Sam a watery smile. "Deanna doesn't get it, though, even though she tries so damn hard." She shakes her head. "I don't blame her. She's never been there. Dee's never been in love, as far as I can tell, and this-" she gestures at the books and Bobby's house and the creaking ceiling above them "-is everything she wants out of life, anyway. She never really had that need, you know? That drive to get away, to make a life of her own."

"She'll learn. She'll understand, one day." Sam thinks of the day Cas walked into that reservoir, of Dean's face when he fished Castiel's coat out of the water. Yeah, he figured out what it was like to lose someone he loved, all right. Sam never would have wished that for him, but it happened all the same.

"The angel?" Sammie asks. "God, there are so many things I want to ask you about, but I know I shouldn't. I gotta say, though, that angel's near the top of the list." She stares at him a moment, seeming to debate with herself, before adding, "The first thing I want to know, though, is why you're still in the life. If you guys are still trying to find the thing that killed Mom, that's not especially heartening. But if you're not…" She shakes her head. "Then I don't get it. I never wanted any of this. I'm hunting that bastard for one reason, and one reason only: revenge. As soon as it's done, I'm out."

"People change, Sammie. I changed." Sam stands and crosses over to the window, pushing the dusty curtain aside and peering out at the salvage yard. "For a long time, I thought I wanted out. Then I thought…I don't know, I guess I thought that my place in the world was in the passenger seat of the Impala." He laughs humorlessly and looks back at Sammie. "Now, I guess I've come full circle, because all I want is a normal life, and yet again it's just out of reach. I'm getting too old for this crap, and I know it. But there's so much left to do."

Sammie looks at him sadly. "Don't quit before the job is done, Sam. If there's anything I've learned from all of this, it's that. If you've got somebody you love, if you've got people you want to protect…see it through, whatever you and Dean are dealing with. Because we both know what happens when we try to pretend like everything is fine. People- people we _love_- die."

Amelia's face flashes in Sam's mind. He thinks of her sliding up the wall, her feet kicking, a red spot spreading across her stomach as she's dragged up to the ceiling, flames engulfing her as she screams and screams-

Grabbing his coat, Sam starts to head for the door. "I'll be back," he calls over his shoulder, his throat tight. "I just need some air."

X

A walk through the scrap-yard and the cool breeze rolling in between the stacks of junked cars settle Sam's pounding heart, and the horrified, clenching stomach in his stomach begins to evaporate, little by little. He stops thinking, over and over like some sick form of mental self-flagellation, _how could you do it how could you put Amelia at risk like that you know what you are you know what happens to the people you care about how could you how could you how could you_, and starts thinking about ways to keep her- and everyone else, all the Kevin Trans and Charlie Bradburys and Alfies from Wiener Hut- safe.

After awhile, when the moon starts to dip down below the tree line, Sam feels like he's got a decent plan. He heads back to the house, walking past Sammie- who's fallen asleep at the table, her head resting on her folded arms and a mass of open books spread out around her- and Bobby, who's still awake, swishing something golden-brown around in a little glass tumbler and reading a book that looks like it's written in runes.

The shower's running upstairs, and Sam knocks on his and Dean's (well, what was his and Dean's, in their own universe) door across the hall in case it's Dean in the bathroom and not Deanna. "Yep," Dean calls, and some of Sam's tension returns. He bucks up and takes a steadying breath, then opens the door.

Dean's laying in bed in a T-shirt and boxers, his ankles crossed and a book- _Angels: Myths and Legends_, even though he'd been claiming all day that he wanted no part of their plan- in his hands. He looks up at Sam from over the pages, a worn-out dullness in his eyes. "Okay, Sammy?" he asks, even though it should be Sam asking that of him.

"Yeah. Yeah, no, I'm good." Sam closes the door and crosses the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "How you holding up, Dean?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean sets the book down and sits up. "Let's skip the Dr. Phil B.S. and get to the part where you tell me you and your butchier counterpart found a way to get us the hell home."

"Not so much," Sam says, shaking his head. "We tried summoning every angel I could think of, but nothing happened. Hell, we even tried summoning Crowley. Nothing."

Dean considers for a moment. "Anything else got the kind of mojo we'd need to hop universes?"

"Not that I can think of," Sam sighs. "Bobby's looking around, but I don't think he'll find much, honestly. We might just have to wait this out until Cas comes back for us."

Crossing his arms, Dean huffs out something that isn't quite a laugh. "_If_ he comes back. If he doesn't get himself killed, the idiot."

"He'll come back," Sam says, with more conviction than he feels. He hesitates, then goes on, "And when he does…Dean, I know I've been talking about…about getting out. Of the life, I mean. But…" he stops and takes a deep, steeling breath. "I think we've got a real shot at finishing all of this, once and for all. And I don't think either of us are going to be happy until we can put this behind us and leave it there, for good. So…so I'm in. Til the end. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean looks at him for a long time, his eyes searching Sam's, and then he nods and asks, in a gruff voice, "You think we can seal up Hell? Seems like a long-shot to me, Sammy."

"I think we can do more than that," Sam says, his hands shaking a little with excitement and nerves. "Dean, think about it. There's more than one tablet, right? So who's to say we can't gather them all and banish _everything_, all that supernatural garbage, in one go?"

"Everything, like…?"

"Like all of it, Dean!" Sam sits forward a little. "Everything that's ever made our lives hell. Demons back in Hell, angels back in Heaven, and monsters back in Purgatory. I'm talking about sending it all back where it came from and giving us the chance to retire without putting everyone around us at risk."

"No," Dean says at once, his jaw going tight.

Sam expected that, on some level, but it still sends a flash of anger through his blood. "Dean, would you just consider-"

"Consider what, Sam?" Dean shouts, furious. He climbs out of bed and turns on Sam, the veins in his neck standing out. "Think about what you're asking me to do right now! You just wanna seal Cas away upstairs with all those-those douchebags, and make it so we _never_ see him again? No." He shakes his head vehemently. "No way. Don't waste your breath suggesting it again, 'cause I won't hear it. Cas is my friend. I'm not…" He's actually trembling, he's so angry, and it sends all the frustration out of Sam in an instant, leaving him slack and exhausted.

"I know, Dean," he says softly, standing up and touching Dean's shoulder. Dean shrugs his hand away, making Sam's heart twist in his chest. "I know it's not fair, asking this of you. And in case you've forgotten, Cas is _my_ friend, too. But…Dean, you know what most angels are like. They're dicks. If we don't seal them off, too, they'll just undo everything we've worked for. And…and…look, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but…man, we've died before, and we went to Heaven, didn't we? So, it's not like you'll never see him again-"

Dean steps back, his hands clenching at his sides. "You might wanna stop talking now," he growls, his eyes shining with anger and anguish.

The frustration boils back up again, making Sam's skin hot. "This is why I always wind up leaving, Dean, this right here! You want me to stay, you want me to hunt with you, but I'm not entitled to an opinion, I never get to call the shots, _your_ say goes and _your_ word is final. Well I'm sorry, man, but you're wrong this time! This is the fate of the world we're talking about, and I'm sorry that you have to sacrifice-"

Laughing, Dean steps up to Sam's chest and glares at him. "Sacrifice? Haven't we sacrificed enough? I'm done! Those angel dicks can take everything, _everything _else, but they're not taking you, and they're not taking Cas, and that's final."He steps away and starts tugging on his jeans, then scoops up his boots and points at Sam with his free hand. "You ever bring this up again, and I swear to God you'll regret it." He slams out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him so hard the house shakes with it.

For a long moment, Sam stands there staring at the door, seething, his hands furling and unfurling at his side and his chest heaving. And then he nearly leaps out of his skin, because a very familiar voice sighs from a few feet behind him, "Well, that went well. And you were _so_ close to getting it right."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam can't believe his eyes- and considering the myriad of weird he's seen in his life, that's saying something. He blinks a few times as if he can clear away the image in front of him. "Gabriel?"

Gabriels mouth quirks, and he lifts his hands. "In the flesh. So to speak."

"You're dead," Sam says slowly, because no matter how many times people unexpectedly come back from the dead, it never really stops being surprising.

"I was," Gabriel shrugs. "But, apparently, your buddy Castiel isn't the only angel with nine lives and a persistent streak." He grins. "You know what they say: you can't keep a good man down."

Sam sinks down on the edge of the bed, his mind whirling. "Wait…how long have you been back?"

Gabriel pulls a guilty face. "Well," he sing-songs, "that kind of depends on what you mean by 'back'. I've been _alive_…pretty much this whole time. Found myself a quiet corner of Heaven and settled in for the show. No TV upstairs, you know. I was stuck watching you idiots. That, or rely on my own company, and despite being the most charming thing on wings this side of the universe, I kinda grate on my own nerves after awhile."

"There was a war in Heaven," Sam says, still feeling three steps behind and uncomfortably off-kilter. "Cas went…man, he went darkside in a big way. The way he tells it, he pretty much cleaned Heaven out. How are you alive?"

Blowing on his fingernails and pretending to shine them on his shirt, Gabriel smiles. "Just call me Heaven's hide-n-seek champion. If I don't want to be found, I won't be. Castiel doesn't even know I'm alive, and I'd like to keep it that way." He rolls his eyes and sighs. "Of course, playing with his toys probably wasn't the best way to keep myself off of his radar, but you guys were being so frustratingly stupid!"

"Cas doesn't know you're here?"

"Cas doesn't know _you're_ here, genius," Gabriel drawls, walking over to the bed and falling back on to it dramatically. He peeks up at Sam. "Do you like the set up? I think I got Bobby's house down perfectly. Not sure about the attic…"

The penny drops, and Sam's jaw slackens. "You did this? So…" The anger he felt towards Dean was nothing compared to the fury growing inside him now. "None of this is real?"

"Depends on your definition of real," Gabriel breezes. Then he laughs and sits up, bumping Sam's shoulder companionably. "Nah, I'm just kidding. None of it is real. Not bad, though, huh?"

Sam rears his fist back. "You son of a-"

"Hey, hey," Gabriel says, suddenly across the room and looking at Sam the way one might look at a naughty child. "Settle down, now, Sammy, or I'll have to put you in time out."

"You absolute dick," Sam spits, jumping to his feet. "Do you even know- I mean, this is five kinds of fucked, but to leave us hanging when the whole damn world was going to hell, to just watch as we went through all of that, you complete piece of-"

"I _died_ for you, or did you conveniently manage to forget that?" Gabriel says, his eyes going dark in that particular way of his, reminding Sam that for all of his smiling and teasing he's probably the oldest and most powerful thing Sam has ever encountered. "So forgive me if I wasn't exactly eager to hop right back into the fire. You think I haven't seen what happens to everything you Winchesters touch? I _like_ being alive."

Some of the fight goes out of Sam at that. He sinks back down on to the bed, just trying to get his breathing back under control. "When Dean finds out what you've done-"

"Dean's not going to find out, not yet anyway," Gabriel snaps, letting out a slow breath. He looks at Sam and shakes his head. "Don't you get it? I didn't pop down here and whisk you guys off to a universe of my own design just for the fun of it. Well," he says, reconsidering, "I mean, it has been pretty fun. But that wasn't my main purpose for all of this. What am I always only ever trying to do? Come on, smart guy, think about it."

And Sam does think about it. He thinks about Mystery Spot, and getting trapped in TV Land. He thinks about all the games Gabriel played as the Trickster, and he thinks about the way Gabriel's looking at him now, with a hint of sadness underneath the teasing glint in his eyes. "You know," Sam says carefully, licking his lips, "I'm getting really sick of you trying to manipulate us into doing things the way you want whenever you please."

"It's called teaching you idiots a lesson," Gabriel says, crossing his arms defensively, "and you want to talk about sick? I'll tell you what I'm sick of: I'm sick to death of watching you and Dean bicker like babies instead of doing what needs to be done. I'm sick of watching Dean moon over Castiel, and watching Castiel moon over Dean, and watching the two of them constantly bumble around each other without doing anything about it. I mean, honestly, how do you stand it? I can't believe you haven't pushed them together and shouted at them to just kiss already."

"You can't be serious," Sam laughs, incredulous. "You left Heaven so you could come down here and, what, play matchmaker?"

"The match is made, sweetheart, I'm just putting the pieces together. Anyway, that's not even the most important thing about all of this…although it's definitely the most frustrating." Suddenly, Gabriel's kneeling right in front of Sam, his eyes serious. "You meant what you said about sealing up Heaven and Hell and Purgatory for good, I hope. Because that was the main lesson I meant to teach you here. I didn't want you getting any crazy ideas about early retirement. You've got a job to do, and trust me when I say that it _needs_ to be done. Sooner rather than later, in fact. There's a storm brewing upstairs, and between you and me, I don't really trust the Cage to hold up for another _century_, much less _forever_. And, of course, your idiot brother accidentally showed everyone that Purgatory's got a few loopholes, so there's that." He shakes his head worriedly. "Things are getting messy. You and Dean might have the thickest skulls in all of Creation, but you're reliable enough when it comes to things like, y'know, the end of the world. I just wanted to be sure you remembered…you can't get out, not until the job's finished. You and your brother have work to do."

"You do realize your goals aren't compatible here, right?" Sam asks. "You want Dean and Cas to…I don't even know, be together, I guess? But how can they, if we seal off Heaven?"

Gabriel stands and turns away. "Let me worry about that part. Let's just say I've got a plan."

"For keeping Cas on Earth?" Sam asks, fighting to keep the hope out of his voice.

For a beat too long, Gabriel is quiet. Then he looks at Sam with an apology in his eyes. "Something like that."

Sam's on his feet immediately. "No. No way. You leave my brother alone, you-" The words get stuck in Sam's throat, literally stuck, making him choke and grasp at his throat, wheezing for breath.

"I've been following your story for a long time, Sam," Gabriel says, watching Sam choke with complete impassivity. "And the way I see it, there's only ever been one way this thing can end. I'm not exactly known for my patience, okay? I'm ready for the grand finale." He snaps his fingers, and immediately Sam can breathe again…but he can't talk, or move. "Now, come on," Gabriel says, taking a step towards him. "I don't trust you enough to let you out of my sight." He touches Sam's forehead, and in the next instant they're outside.

It's dark and cool, a tinge of gray seeping in to the edges of the sky, and Dean is leaning against the hood of the Impala, drinking a beer and looking solemnly introspective. He shakes his head once, glances up at the dimming stars, and takes another slow sip from his beer. An elbow nudges into Sam's side, and Gabriel smiles at him. "Show time. I always knew this was going to be the hard part." Before Sam's eyes, he morphs into a bruised and bloodied Castiel. With wide blue eyes he peers at Sam, but the grin that breaks his face is all Gabriel. "How do I look?"

"Like an asshole," Sam says, surprised to find he can speak again, although he still can't move. "Dean! Dean!"

"Oh, can it," Gabriel groans. "He can't hear or see you, obviously." He rolls his shoulders and lets out a breath. "All right. Let's do this thing." He takes a step forward, and Dean's beer fumbles in his fingers, falling to the ground forgotten, his eyes huge.

He straightens up, taking Cas in and swallowing hard. His voice is sandpaper rough as he says, "Cas?"

Gabriel does a really decent impression of Cas, settling his shoulders back like he's fluffing invisible wings and looking up at Dean seriously. "Dean."

"Cas, you bastard," Dean gasps, rushing forward and pulling him into his arms, shocking Sam entirely. "You stupid, stupid bastard." He steps back, his hands not leaving Gabriel's shoulders. "What the hell, Cas? I thought we talked about this. You need help, you ask for it. I told you, man. I'm here."

It kills Sam to hear Dean pouring his heart out to an imposter, but he's pretty sure Gabriel can't hear the stream of obscenities Sam is directing at him. Gabriel just reaches up and lays his hand on Dean's chest, playing up all of Castiel's seemingly wide-eyed innocence, which he's managed to hold on to despite everything they've been through.

Dean falls for it, hook, line, and sinker. He swallows again and, in a gravelly voice, asks, "Who did this to you?"

"The angels," Cas answers- only Sam has to shake his head at that, because it's not Cas, it's Gabriel, however convincing he is. "Dean, we are all in grave danger."

"When aren't we?" Dean chuckles, the creases around his eyes deepening. It's astounding, how different his body language is now that Cas is back, how relaxed and confident he seems. "Tell you the truth, if it wasn't us against the world I'd have to assume something was wrong."

Cas- Gabriel- gives him a soft look, one Sam has never seen before but which, apparently, Dean recognizes, because his jaw clenches and his hands tighten on Castiel's shoulders. "You don't understand," Cas says, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "There is a new regime in Heaven, and they are _dangerous_, Dean, beyond anything we have ever dealt with. There are rumors of rebellion in Hell, and you and I both know the weaknesses of Purgatory."

Dean lets out a shaky breath and slides his hands down to Castiel's elbows, loosening but not quite relinquishing his grip. "You've been to Heaven?"

"Yes. After I left Fred," Cas responds, ducking his head, and Dean smiles at him fondly.

"Well all right, Cas," he says, proudly. "Sorry you got your ass kicked for your trouble, but hey- that's life, isn't it?"

"That isn't all," Cas says, shaking his head frustratedly. "Dean, they've done something to me. I-I can't be trusted. That's why I sent you here. Not just to get you away from them…" He looks up into Dean's eyes, and Dean's completely lost in it, sending Sam into another torrent of swearing and struggling against his invisible bonds. "I sent you here to keep you away from _me_."

Dean steps back, his hands falling slack at his side and his shoulders slumped like the weight of what Castiel just said is more than he can carry. "Take me back there," he says suddenly, looking at Castiel fiercely. "Take me back, Cas, and I _will_ find a way to fix this."

"I know how to fix it, Dean…but you won't like it."

"How?" Dean surges forward again, almost touching Cas but dropping his hands at the last moment.

Cas looks away, looking broken in a way that shocks Sam into silence. He hasn't seen Cas like this, maybe not ever, and lately he's been almost _cheerful_…but Dean seems to know the look, seems to expect it, even. He does reach out, then, his hand falling back to its usual place on Castiel's shoulder. Cas licks his lips, and says to the lightening sky: "We have to seal it up. All of it. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, everything." He clears his throat. "I have reason to believe there are tablets-"

"Dammit, no," Dean says, stepping back and watching Cas furiously. They're quiet for so long that Sam thinks neither of them are planning to speak again at all, just staring at each other, and then Dean shakes his head and says again, with a hint of resignation in his voice, "No. We'll find another way."

"There is no other way," Cas says quietly.

Dean swears again and turns away, but Sam can see how torn up he is from the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his fingers are tight around the hem of his sleeves. "You're okay with that?" he asks, still not looking at Cas, his voice hoarse. "You're okay with…" He stops, turns around, meets Castiel's eyes. "You're okay with being locked away up there? Forever?"

There's nothing implicit about what Dean says, but Castiel's small smile and quiet words can't be misconstrued: "Forty years isn't so very long, not for someone like myself."

The look on Dean's face is what convinces Sam that he's definitely going to kill Gabriel again as soon as he gets the chance, and that he's going to enjoy it. Dean looks like he's just been given everything he's ever wanted, stunned and happy and ruined all at once. He tries to speak, clears his throat, tries again. "How do we do it?" he asks, his voice low and rough.

Castiel leans forward, and for one horrifying moment Sam thinks they're going to kiss- but then someone else, someone who sounds just like Cas, cries: "Dean!"

Sam and Dean both look from Castiel #1, standing closer to the house, to Castiel #2, standing inches from Dean. The relief that washes over Sam would make his knees weak, if he weren't magically constrained, but Dean stiffens and lets go of Gabriel, taking a step back. "What the hell?" he asks, his brow furrowed, and behind his back Gabriel gives Sam a wide-eyed, "oops" look.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean looks narrowly at real Cas, taking in the pristine state of his clothes and the angry look on his face, and then looks more softly at fake Cas, his eyes searching his face. "What's going on?" he asks Gabriel. "Is that alternate universe you?"

"Yes," Gabriel says quickly, nodding and raising his eyebrows at Sam when Dean turns away to regard actual Cas with a mix of discomfort and worry.

Real Cas follows Gabriel's gaze, and his eyes narrow. For a moment the bonds around Sam slacken…but then they tighten threefold, knocking the breath from Sam's lungs. "No," Gabriel says, taking a step forward. "Don't do that."

"What did he do?" Dean asks hurriedly, stepping back up to Gabriel's side. "Listen here, Castiel, you don't know me yet-"

"Let them go," real Cas says, looking steadily at Gabriel.

Gabriel's eyes twinkle, just a little. "I'm helping them. They're safe here."

Castiel takes a step forward, and his angel blade slides out of his sleeve, gleaming in the sunlight that's beginning to peek over the trees. "You're hurting them. Gabriel, I'm warning you-"

"Gabriel?" Dean breathes, reeling back.

Making a face, Gabriel gestures at Castiel. "You're going to trust him? He's working for the angels, Dean. This is 2005. I haven't fallen yet. Remember?"

Dean licks his lips, looking between the two of them, his eyes wide. He looks a bit like he's going to be sick, and Sam wouldn't blame him if he could think of anything but how hard it is to breathe. Instead of sympathy, though, he mostly feels irritated that Dean hasn't figured it out. _I'm going to die_, Sam thinks, _and Dean's too busy playing Freaky Friday with his boyfriend to realize it._

Castiel takes another step forward and looks at Dean evenly. "You kept my coat," he says, his voice calm and steady. The bonds around Sam slacken, and Gabriel takes a small step backwards. "And when I remembered you, you gave it back to me. This coat," Castiel says, grabbing at his lapel. "Dean, I am me."

Everyone turns to look at Gabriel, who freezes before saying, with a little shrug, "Maybe the angels told him?"

"Gabriel, you son of a bitch," Dean growls, surging forward, but Gabriel pops over to Sam and hooks his arm through Sam's.

"Easy now, partner," Gabriel says, in his own voice. He looks like himself again, which seems to affect Dean almost as much as Sam's seemingly sudden appearance. "Let's not do anything hasty."

Dean glowers at him. "What is this?"

Sighing, Gabriel tips his head back. "A wake up call!" he shouts, looking at the three of them with pure frustration. "Come on! I've just given you boys a _wealth_ of information, and I'm gonna let you in on a little secret: not one single word I've said to you has been untrue." He reconsiders that. "Well, right up until Castiel showed up, anyway. Kinda threw me for a loop, that. How'd you find us, anyway, Cassie?"

Cas flits a glance at Dean, then straightens his shoulders. "To borrow the phrase from a friend, the bloody way."

Sam doesn't like the sound of that, and from the way he tenses beside him, apparently neither does Gabriel. "Huh," Gabriel says. The world around them flickers, then melts away, revealing the dive Sam and Dean had been drinking in when 'Cas' had taken them away to the girls' motel room. There aren't any people there now, but there are a half dozen corpses lying just outside the open front door. Sam can faintly make out the wing-shaped burns surrounding their bodies. Gabriel looks at them for a long moment, then turns to Cas and shakes his head. "That seems a little excessive."

"I would have killed a thousand more," Cas says quietly, taking another few steps forward, "to get into this building. Let go of Sam, Gabriel."

Gabriel seems to weigh his options for a moment. "All right," he says, holding up a finger. "All right, but you just listen to me, all of you. There's a lesson to be had from all of this-"

"Take your lesson and shove it up your ass," Dean snaps. "And get your hands off my brother."

"The most important lesson was for you, Dean," Gabriel says angrily. "Sealing Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory should be your biggest concern right now, so you just keep that in mind when everything starts to go south and you're scrambling for a plan. Those tablets are out there. You know what needs to be done." The last remaining force around Sam disappears, and Gabriel disappears in the same instant.

For a moment they all just stand there, looking around like Gabriel is going to reappear at any moment. Then, slowly, their attention turns to the angels Cas killed. Cas is mournful as he stoops beside their bodies, gently touching them as if testing whether or not he can heal them. But when he stands and looks at Dean, with his hands balled into his fists at his sides, it's obvious that he'd do it again, if he thought he needed to. "Dean-"

The sound of someone clearing their throat cuts through, and they all swivel to find Gabriel sitting on the bar, eating cherries out of a glass jar. "Sorry, couple of things I forgot to mention. That whole thing about the big guys upstairs messing with Castiel's melon? Yeah, that's actually happening, so you might want to watch out for that. Also: the spell to seal Heaven? It requires a willing sacrifice. Something to think about, Dean, if forty years starts sounding a little too long for you." He winks and vanishes again, there and gone so fast no one thinks to move towards him.

When a moment has passed and everyone is still quiet, Dean cocks his head and says, slowly, "Someone wanna explain to me what the hell just happened, exactly?"

X

Castiel leaves a few hours later, with a long worried glance at Dean before he goes. Sam can't help but give his brother a couple of concerned, lingering glances himself. He _knows_ Dean, and he knows that, despite the fact that none of them have mentioned it, Dean is mulling Gabriel's words over.

"You all right?" Sam asks for the third time since they got to the motel, and Dean frowns and clicks the laptop on his chest closed, setting it on the nightstand.

"Still fine," he says, testily, laying back and staring at the ceiling. "I'm not a girl, Sam."

"Yeah, but you're a human being," Sam says, sitting up and searching Dean's face. "Nobody would judge you for being upset about everything Gabriel said, least of all me." Sam shrugs, chewing at his lip. "Look, Dean, the facts are the facts. If Gabriel wasn't lying about the tablets, or about…about Cas, and what's going on with him-"

"Then we'll deal with it," Dean says flatly, reaching up and turning off the light over his head before rolling on to his side. "Same way we deal with everything else."

For a moment Sam sits staring at the tense line of Dean's back. Then he sighs and clicks off his light, as well, settling into bed with his hands behind his head. "Dean," he says after a moment, his voice soft, "you can't leave me here. You know that, right?"

He thinks Dean might be asleep, he's quiet for so long, but then Dean answers, his voice just as hushed as Sam's was, "You did okay. While I was in Purgatory. You'd be all right, Sammy."

Sam's throat goes tight, and his eyes prickle as he stares up through the darkness at the water stains in the ceiling. He doesn't know what to say to that, because he knows Dean's right. He _was_ okay. He moved on, even though it hurt so much sometimes he thought it would kill him.

Dean, though. If he lost Cas…they've been through that before, and Sam isn't sure which was worse: losing Dean entirely, or having _that_ version of Dean next to him, all emptiness and fake smiles and whiskey-scented breath.

"You've still got a chance at a normal life," Dean says eventually, long after Sam thought he'd gone to sleep. "But me? Sam, we both know I'd just be waiting for my number to get called."

Sam swallows back the lump that's growing in his throat. "Dean," he mumbles, fighting to keep his voice even, "I _need_ you."

"No, you don't," Dean says, and it hurts so much because it's true, and because they both know it. "You don't need me, and maybe you haven't for a long time. I just didn't want to see it." He clears his throat and shifts in the bed, and Sam can feel him looking at him. "I'm proud of you, Sammy. You know that, right?"

That feels too much like goodbye, so Sam shakes his head and sits up, too, looking at his brother in the dark. "Don't talk like that."

Sam's eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness that he can see the small lift of Dean's lips. "Just thought you ought to know, that's all." He lies back down, not showing Sam his back now but laying with his hands on his chest, surprisingly at peace. "We'll try to find another way," he says, in the sort of tone that suggests he doesn't think they will. "But if we don't, then…well, I don't think we're gonna find a more willing sacrifice than me. I'm tired, Sam. Down-past-my-bones tired. If we pull this off, if we get rid of every ghost and demon and son-of-a-bitch angel keeping us in a job, then my work is done. What else do I have?"

Silence settles over them and stretches on for an hour, two hours. Dean starts snoring gently, tossing over to his side and kicking his leg out over the bed, and Sam smiles at that, a sad wistful kind of smile, like Dean's already gone. He thinks about the way Dean and Cas looked at each other at the bar, and the way Dean clutched at that damn trenchcoat beside the reservoir. He tries to imagine Dean living alone at forty, drinking too much and watching crappy telenovelas all day, going soft in the stomach from too much beer and junk food. Instead, for reasons he can't fathom, Sam imagines a starter house in Texas, fresh paint on the walls and dog hair on the couch, and the hushed laughter of a woman trailing in from the kitchen. He closes his eyes and chases that image for awhile, follows it to soft, sweet-smelling curls and warm skin beneath his fingertips, and he smiles just a little as he drifts down into sleep.

* * *

**A/N: This accidentally turned into what I wish would have happened in place of "Citizen Fang" and "Torn and Frayed". Not that they weren't good episodes, of course. I really liked "Citizen Fang", especially, and I'm sorry I didn't/couldn't include Benny in this story because he's one of my favorite characters, hands down. **

**Apologies if this isn't enough closure for you, but I really do prefer leaving things slightly open-ended. I think my direction was obvious, but I like watching you guys make your own decisions about what happened. So…yeah. This was surprisingly cathartic to write and included quite a bit of my own headcanon. Hope you enjoyed it.**


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